


Rebuilding takes time

by horrorriz, KingpinCobblepot (Theonlylucysaxon)



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Additional Tags to Be Added, Dating, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff, M/M, Martin have been away for 2 years, Mutual Pining, canon divergence if they had not been imprisoned, set after 5x11, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-10 01:44:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18650380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/horrorriz/pseuds/horrorriz, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theonlylucysaxon/pseuds/KingpinCobblepot
Summary: Once all the betrayal and hatred were behind them, the air finally cleared and a new chapter started, they had all the tools needed for the next step —but finding your way into an affair when you’re busy rebuilding your villainous empire proved harder than expected.Luckily, a new unexpected variable is added to push them towards the goal: Martin wanting nothing more than to build himself a tiny family he can relate to.





	Rebuilding takes time

Oswald had told him to never come back, that it wasn’t safe —for either of them. He couldn’t possibly have known, that what was supposed to have been a safe place carefully handpicked by the Penguin himself, would have ended up being just another prison. Made to be the safest option for the boy, the restrictions were horrendous. Disallowed from contact with the outside world, Martin was trapped. Forbidden from leaving, only allowed the food they brought him, and never given an opportunity to really see anyone but his captors-- or as Oswald would have named them, rescuers. 

He understood the sentiment of it all, Oswald only wanted what was best —but who thought of Oswald’s well being? He had made it quite clear on the day they parted he was out of friends, real alliances. It all came down to the simple point, Martin was worried, and he missed him. Oswald had been the only one who had truly seen something in the shy boy others would yell “freak” at. Martin had been alone and Oswald had been the one who saved him. Now it was Martin’s turn to return the favor. To be there for Oswald when he was alone.

He looked up at the building that still seemed to be more of a construction site than an actual club, but this is where he had been directed towards when asking for the Iceberg Lounge. Not at all in the area where it had been last, so much had happened the two years he had been away it seemed.

When he had heard on the news of Gotham’s downfall, the city in quarantine and condemned as no longer even a part of the country, nor the government's protection, he had been scared. Terrified even. Would Oswald still be alive? He knew the answer to that, naturally. If it was one thing the man knew, it was how to not only survive but to thrive in times other would call chaotic, Martin had learned as much.

With a deep breath he stepped inside the building, not exactly knowing what he expected, but certainly not the chill that made him clutch his arms together to try and keep in the warmth. His breath painted a fog in the air in front of him. 

Oswald had certainly made the place live up to it’s name this time. Before him towered a quite large in proportion to the building, actual iceberg as a centerpiece. Surrounding it were several bar counters, made in clear glass in order to match the interior. 

A little bit to the side was a proper nesting site, a faux beach for the penguins he finally noticed waddled around there, some in their respective nests, others on the way down to the underground water tunnel leading back to the iceberg for the animals who wanted to climb up there to dive back down into the chilly waters, entertaining the guests. As if one were observing them in their actual habitat. 

In the ceiling were the trademark umbrella lamps still in place, something that made Martin smile in fond memory. He had used to count them back then, while he waited for Oswald being out on an extra long business trip, as he had a habit of calling them. There were 31 of them, he recalled.

He was right in the midst of a recount when a strange voice broke into his nostalgia. 

“Hey kid!” 

His concentration broke with a frown. That had to be him. Who else could the so called “kid” be. So he looked, raising a brow inquisitively. 

“You aren’t supposed to be in here.” The voice was a man. A tall man. Muscular. A goon by every description of the word, Martin supposed. He reached for his notepad to explain in simple words he was here for Oswald. Really, surely when given an explanation, the man would take him right to the Penguin. Of course. Simple. 

Only one problem— he wasn’t even given that chance. 

The stranger had him lifted up and carted off towards the door despite his physical fighting against the grip. It was ineffectual, which was only because the man had taken a cheap shot to grab him up. He was tossed outside on his rear, and left to seethe silently. Fine. They wouldn’t let him see Oswald. Then he would go to someone who would. He went to find Edward Nygma. The Riddler would definitely be able to get him in to see Oswald. And what’s more, he was the only other person in Gotham he felt he could trust. The miniature crime lord headed down the sidewalk with a march of a pace, set by his own thrumming anger and sheer determination to get what he wanted. Frankly, Oswald would have been proud.    
  


***

  
Ironically enough Oswald returned just shortly after, telltale tapping of his cane as he walked over the marble floors with surprisingly swift steps.

He smirked to himself as he studied the place taking form after his visions in a rapid pace, that’s what he paid his workers for at least —if you could tell threatening to imprison their family and loved ones if disobedient or ineffective could count as paying. Truth to be told he had been in a bit of a slump since after the treasures he had collected during the downfall of the city had been stolen. He made do —naturally, as he always did, but that didn’t mean it had been tough. Taking some of that extra touch for detail he haven’t had the need to tap into for many years now. He didn’t mind it though, the exercise of his mind proved as a fresh breeze in the new dynamics of the city as it was being rebuilt.

The acquisition of the plot for the club in the high end part of Gotham as the Diamond District was famous of being had not just been a lucky straw, no he had his claws in the place while the city still remained in ruins. A few threats here, a couple of bribes there and it was his. Simple tactics, you just need to find what makes people bend over to his wishes.

The same goon who had thrown Martin out came up to him and offered a small bow that made the Penguin’s delighted grin grow wider.

“How’s the construction of the extra storage capacities going?” He asked with a casual tone. It was a coverup name for the real purpose of the room, naturally. Well partially it was true, as it would serve as a hiding place for whatever stolen goods and armory or other illegal goods would be stored in waiting to be put out for auction at the black market. 

“Following the timeframe as planned, Penguin sir.”

“Good. Any other incidents worth mentioning?”

The man shifted somewhat uncomfortable, clearly fearing to admit he had messed up so much he left the entrance unsupervised enough for even a kid to enter the building. However, if he did not tell him now, someone else would, or the security tapes. So his best bet to keeping his head would be to come clean anyway.

“Well. There was one thing…” He started.

The Penguin instantly caught the uneasy tone and took a step closer, fingers drumming on the handle of his cane, ready to retract the blade if needed.

He raised a clearly impatient eyebrow to urge him to continue.

“A child, a boy managed to sneak in. I threw him out, of course.” He nervously laughed, hearing in his own weak defense this would not end well. “I will, of course, see to that the current security is fired and replaced in order for something like that to never happen again.”

“What did the boy look like?”

“Pardon me?” The goon blinked a few times, not expecting that reply.

“What. Did. He. Look. Like?”

“He… Brown curly hair, big eyes. Can’t recall him saying anything though, only frowned at me…”

“Did he wear a pad around his neck?”

“What?”

“ARE YOU DEAF?!” Oswald yelled and pulled out his blade to push it towards the man’s throat. 

“What kind of imbeciles do I hire nowadays…” He mumbled to himself.

“Y-yes, he did have something around his neck. Maybe that was wha—”

Oswald did not allow him to finish before he pressed the knife into his neck and then pulled back his arm to shove it into his main artery.

Martin was back.

He didn’t know why, or how, and he certainly would see to that all the personnel who were getting generously compensated to keep him safe were all executed —after a certain degree of torture for their failure of service.

However right now he needed to tend to the most urgent matters, which was finding wherever Martin had gone.   
  


***   
  


It took surprisingly little effort to find the Riddler. 

Well, maybe not so surprising really. 

After all, he was a man who loved attention. So the various billboards and advertisements for his Riddle factory that for lack of a better word, well riddled the city, were unsurprising. Martin found an address on one. Found himself soon enough in front of the building. It had been easier than his trek to the Iceberg lounge, and he vaguely wondered if the two men realized their clubs were so near one another. Hmm…

He entered to find it was early. The “show” started in half an hour. Huh. He looked around at the many tables and waitresses wandering about. There was a stage at the very back of the single room bar and atop the stage were a few stools, a microphone and a giant wheel. It was labeled, “The Wheel Of Misfortune” and honestly, it had a certain interest for a little boy who had an affinity for cruelty as his eyes widened and took in every script of writing it had to offer. Methods of torture galore. Fascinating. He was in the middle of once again letting his active imagination run wild with the idea of what a baracuda could do to a man’s hand when a voice interrupted. 

Only this time it was familiar. 

“Martin?” Ed’s voice came from just to the left of the wheel, on the stage stood the man in green. He looked confused-- concerned even. “What are you doing here?” He asked as he hopped down and approached. Martin immediately grabbed up his pad to begin an explanation. 

_ ‘I need to see Oswald.’ _

“Okay, well… He isn’t here.” Ed said, motioning around. This really wasn’t the place for kids, and last he heard this city as a whole wasn’t the place for this kid specifically. 

Martin rolled his eyes and wrote another note. 

_ ‘I know that. He’s at the Iceberg Lounge.’  _

With this note came a drawing of a big iceberg to illustrate he clearly knew just what he was talking about. 

Ed was rather intrigued by his annoyance. Clearly he felt the Riddler had asked a stupid question and gave a response, not unlike how Ed responded to people who asked him stupid questions. 

“So then why are you here?” 

_ ‘They won’t let me see him at the lounge. They threw me OUT!’  _

As he displayed this note, his little face contorted in anger. How dare they after all. Didn’t they know WHO he was? 

Ed held in a small laugh. The kid was cute. 

“I see… And you think I can get you in?” He easily deduced. 

_ ‘No one throws the Riddler out of places.’  _

Oh no fair! The kid didn’t get to do that. Act like he was a hero. I mean, of course the Riddler was. Mythic in fact. And he was right, no one did throw the Riddler out. Not if they wanted to live. But the way he said it— wrote it. It just wasn’t fair because it just wasn’t something Ed could really refuse at this point. He glanced at his watch. 

“Look, kid. I got a show. Let’s get you backstage to my dressing room. You hang out there til after… I’ll take you to the Iceberg to see Uncle Penguin, okay?” He offered against his better judgement. Against all his judgement really. 

Martin looked measured. Pensive even. He was considering the offer as if were one made from one villain to another, like he had so many choices and this was simply one of many. But then finally, he gave a determined nod and held up his pad with the simple reply. 

_ ‘O.K.’ _

And for right now, for Martin, this would have to be. Besides, maybe he could sneak and get some good peaks at whatever they were doing during this show. He had a feeling it must be pretty good if he wasn’t allowed to watch. 

And Martin didn’t watch— in the beginning at least.

It all began with Edward being so perfectly Edward in every way. The Riddler took center stage amidst a sea of applause in a crowd which seemed to worship him.  He was in his element. Beginning with his little monologue about the challenge he presented tonight. He would ask a riddle of whatever unfortunate volunteer should offer themselves up. When they got it wrong they would spin his wheel— if by some miracle they got it right then they moved onto round two. And they had the task of trying to stump the Riddler himself. 

People almost never made it past round one, and no one ever made it past round two. The Riddler always got his victims and where once upon a time those victims were the poor wretches of the narrows who swarmed in like cockroaches to watch one another be slaughtered for the promise of money that was being lusted over like a starving man over a steak dinner… Well, now those darling have-nots were left to rot in their filth as Gotham’s favorite villain found an audience far more his caliber. Gotham’s elite, the wealthiest percentile, the diamond districts own very blessed group of upper class social-class obsessed idiots who never did this for the money, because they had more than enough. No, nowadays Edward played for the sport and his victims— er… volunteers, always stepped up for the chance to earn their glory.

They just wanted to stroke their egos and feed their pride by outsmarting the smartest man in Gotham. It was all rather pathetic really, which made it far more delicious than the Narrows had ever been, but it also certainly never lessened the way the crowds came or the way they cheered or the way they luxuriated in the disembowelment of an overcompatent simpleton from their many ranks. They were just as debased and vile as the scum who lurked in the Narrows’ sewers. The only good thing was that they paid more for a ticket to the show and spent way more on the drinks they consumed while wallowing in their deviance. 

All in all, it was good business.

_ ‘It’s quite a living.’  _ The Riddler would cackle to himself as he counted the cash and looked at the night’s body count.  _ ‘Especially when it isn’t!’  _ He found it hilarious. They both did. That their niche could be found right here. Not a stone’s throw from the place that at one time had torn them apart by freezing them over. But they came away from everything a new and improved man in the end. And they were happy. 

Tonight started off simply enough. A basic riddle for a moronic banker who failed round one, spun out and ended up with his tongue being torn out by a stray alley cat. Admittedly not one of Ed’s favorites. It was fine. The screams of pain resonated well and the crowd always enjoyed it. But there was something just missing. It was the fact he didn’t actively cause the pain himself, and lately he kept getting punishments like that. He needed to weight the wheel out before the next show. He wanted to break more kneecaps, cut off more fingers, and to rip out more fingernails. Even when he pulled out the revolver, it didn’t satisfy that sadistic little showman lurking inside of him who wanted to savor the slow delivery of pain. 

Which certainly explained the rush of endorphins when man number two managed to konk out on the first riddle as well, spin the wheel and land on—

“Oh!” The Riddler called and clutched his chest as he looked out into the audience with glee. “You’ve landed on those three little magic words, words which can mean so many things. Sometimes it’s a sign of endearment to hear them. Sometimes it’s an empty platitude to placate you… And in this instance, my favorite instance, the meaning is— as you’re about to find out,” He looked to the stock broker tied to his chair. “quite…  _ literal. _ ” His grin was ever the cat about to swallow the canary whole as he leaned in to the man’s ear as if he was going to whisper, only to gleefully and manically scream. 

“You’re ON FIRE!” With that, his assistant brought out his blow torch and the Riddler let out a loud string of ‘HA!’s as he began roasting the man alive. The flesh of his hand blistered and darkened under the direct flame and Ed loved the way he screamed when the guys sleeve caught into the flame and suddenly he just went up. It was a burn and then he was ablaze. Screaming for help, frantically fighting his knots. Ed watched with heavy breath and slightly parted lips as flames danced in his dark eyes. God, he enjoyed this. The high of it. The rush. By the time Ed put out the flames, the guy’s body had mostly gone to dust and ashes with his skeleton remaining covered in melted flesh and looking of oh so perfect death. Ed froze up for a moment in front of the crowd as he just enjoyed the rush. As if he were alone, the violence being committed in intimacy. This man’s life being taken for the sheer pleasure of it. Ed missed it sometimes. Not that it was fun to do anything alone without some audience, but a part of him rather still remembered how much fun it was with an audience of one. 

Damn. The kid being here was stirring up memories. Ed glanced towards his dressing room subconsciously, only to meet eyes with the little boy in question. 

Martin didn’t look scared though as some might expect, or as Ed certainly had expected he would be if he saw this kind of show. No, instead the little violent sociopath looked thrilled with the idea of what had happened and all the more enamored with the kind of power and skill the Riddler clearly had. Not the point, but also it didn’t feel too bad. That look in his eyes was of a promise that existed inside him. One day he would do amazing things. One day, he could stand on a stage like Ed did and have a show of his own. He half wondered if this was the look Oswald recognized in him all those years ago when he clearly knew Ed was going to be someone Ed didn’t even expect himself? Was this what that had been like?

Instead of making Martin go back, he winked at the kid and then turned back to his crowd who were only finally calming down from all the cheering that came with the imbecile was set aflame. 

“Well, isn’t that just too bad? I suppose that’s why it’s so important to remember, ladies and gentleman… You play my game and you might just end up  _ burned. _ ” He cackled and waved the body to be carted off and for the next victim to come up onstage. 

It proved to be quite the show.    
  


***   
  


By the time they left the Riddle Factory, Martin was giddy with the afterglow of the excitement from what could not be explained as anything else than a public humiliation and execution. 

Ed had noticed the boy watching throughout, and furthermore he had been easily able to spot that gleeful look for the duration of what he saw. If the boy had been in such close proximity to Oswald as Ed had understood, he had seen worse probably. It could even be argued that his look was disinterested. Perhaps he had grown numb, indifferent, desensitized to the violence he had seen. Maybe. But to the Riddler’s opinion, it was just becoming clear Martin seemed to find an odd fascination with the morbid. A trait, he couldn’t help but admire and identify with.

The nervosity was starting to get to Ed, it wasn’t the fact he had not seen Oswald for long, no —in fact he been to the lounge to share a drink —or a few, as early as last night. It was the building intimacy that had started to develop around them that had him jittery. Glances lingering longer than would be considered purely friends, seated as close as the public settings they insisted on meeting in most of the time offered. The tension when they dared to share a last glass of the evening in the private office of Oswald’s, located in the back of the club —or throwing their heads back in drunken laughter in the midst of the Riddler’s trophy stash. That was another aspect, how they always seemed to feel the need to resort to liquor in order to let down their guard, perhaps they still had longer to go in their newfound pact and partnership than they had thought? Years of betrayal and hatred took time to heal, nothing simply done overnight.

However the facts still remained, hearts still pounding whenever their fingers accidentally brushed or caught the other looking —yet no one had made a move, or even uttered any words of endearment. They were friends. That was a big step. The next step seemed ever so far out of reach and so they simply never reached for it. Not really. Not actively. 

And here he was with Oswald’s kid essentially bringing him home to the man who in some ways Ed sort of missed going home to himself. Not that he could admit it. It had been such a long time for them— a long time since Ed had anyone of his own. He almost felt jealous of it. Oswald had someone else he cared about it. What was that like? He didn’t let himself wonder. It was better not to dwell after all. 

They had just entered the club, when there he was all smiling and moving towards them with his signature gait. 

“Ah! Edward…. How good to see you—” his eyes seemed to note the young boy and he stopped short, staring until suddenly the little villain closed the distance between them to wrap his arms around Oswald’s torso and hug him tightly. 

The moment those small arms —yet longer than he last remembered them, wrapped around him, Oswald broke. Guard openly falling along with his well polished armor.In this moment he wasn’t the king of Gotham, or the Penguin, or even Mr. Cobblepot. He was Oswald, a man who had never before been given a chance to love anyone who loved him back, until this not-so-little anymore boy.

As Ed saw tears welled in those impossibly color defying blue eyes, dripping from beneath his monocle as he hugged him back. Watching them like that? Ed forgot he was only supposed to be  _ almost  _ jealous.

“M-Martin!” Oswald stammered in a tone of vulnerability that Edward thought to have never heard the man’s voice. It could be described as moderately sickening, at best. Frosty exterior melting and kind eyes directed to the child in front of him. For a moment Ed wondered if this what was a real parent was supposed to be? Unable to relate —given his own less than fortune past, he kept in the background, attempting to hold back his frown.

“My sincere apologies of the imbeciles I had the misfortune of hiring, I assure you that mistake have been taken care of.”    
Oswald’s all knowing, devious smirk alone was enough to tell the story of just how that discharge had gone down.

Martin inaudible huffed in approval.

“I was worried something might had happened to you.”

Picking up his pen, Martin began to furiously type down something that was certainly gonna be half an essay or possible two. Oswald knowingly allowed his hand to gentle pat down at Martin’s, pausing his storytelling.

“Nevermind that, you can explain over a nice hot meal. You must have come a long way.”   
Oswald was not furious with the fact that Martin had escaped the safehouse, rather than the one he had paid to do the work. For the boy all he felt was humble, plain relief of him being well and unharmed.

Seeing the intimate scene unfold before him, Ed was starting to feel like an unwanted spectator. Knowing when he wasn’t needed —from much too painful lessons in the past, he took his stride towards the door to make his leave.

“Edward?” Oswald called after him, worry and a hint of hurt written in his face. Typical Ed of attempting to flee the scene when things got emotional.

Ed turned. “Yes Oswald?”

“Have dinner with us please?” Biting his lip in uncertainty, Oswald internally wished he had not gone too far with this. He had learnt the hard way that pushing Edward prematurity could have devastating results.

As much as they had got closer these last few months, sharing a meal together —and if he knew Oswald, possibly in the comforts of his own home as well… It was next level for a step Ed wasn’t certain he was ready to take. 

Sensing Ed’s hestigation, Martin scribbled something new and stepped forward to tug on Ed’s sleeve, prompting him to read it. He made certain to shield the writing pad away from Oswald’s prying, curious gaze.

_ ‘You have to stay so you can tell him about the show!’ _ His eyes were pleading, ever that of a little boy who very much needed to make sure Oswald knew every last detail of the grotesque display he had just seen— and loved every moment of. How could Ed deny him?    


**Author's Note:**

> Please, if you enjoy this story. Consider to kudos, comment and subscribe! 
> 
> Comments especially sustain us! As a writer you constantly wonder how the words affect the readers, what they liked and want more of.


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